


The Finest Ingredients

by Fyrebird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23044294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyrebird/pseuds/Fyrebird
Summary: Why would Potter send him potions ingredients, much less these ones? And then to refuse to explain himself — that, Severus would NOT allow.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 15
Kudos: 344
Collections: Odd Jobs Fest





	The Finest Ingredients

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 2015 snape_potter Odd Jobs fest. Just realized it never got posted it here. A few minor edits from the official fest version.
> 
> Oh hey, forgot the disclaimer. I'm not blonde, rich, nor British, so I'm pretty sure that means Harry Potter and associated characters don't belong to me.

_ Prologue: 7 May 1998 _

There had been no answer to his knock. He knocked again, more firmly, causing small flakes of the peeling paint to fall to the tiny porch. And again a third time, when there was still no response, more loudly and for much longer than etiquette would support. Nothing. 

So, he was going to be difficult. Not surprising, really — when had Snape been anything but? Harry could be stubborn, too; perseverance had been ground into him from the time he was 15 months old. 

He checked the darkened street, but there was no movement to be seen. The streetlight flickered reluctantly, the bulb on the verge of failure, and the decaying porch boasted no light at all. It was unlikely that even a hidden observer would be able to see what he was doing, despite all the noise he'd been making to draw the attention of any in the vicinity. 

He backed up to the bottom of the crumbling steps and allowed his wand to drop smoothly from his sleeve into his hand. A quick concealment charm ensured that no light or sound would travel beyond the porch. He extended his arm with a whispered, " _Expecto Patronum_." 

The silver stag emerged, filling the small landing. "Tell Snape I'm not going anywhere until we've spoken." The antlered head dipped an acknowledgement before the glowing patronus passed through the wall with his message. 

Snape still made him wait, the bastard. 

Finally, the knob turned and the door opened slightly. No light spilled out from the opening; if it weren't for the white collar and cuffs of Snape's old-fashioned attire, Harry might have thought the door had been opened by spell. 

"Go away," was Snape's greeting. His voice was even deeper than before, and scratchy as if the speaker was recovering from a cold. 

"What? No! I wanted—" 

"What you want is no concern of mine. Go away and stay away." Before Harry could respond the door closed decisively, and smugly confronted him once again. How a door could be smug, Harry didn't know, but there was a definite sense of satisfaction in the wooden panels and flaking paint before him. 

He stepped forward to knock again, to _demand_ the door re-open, when suddenly a misty, glowing beak thrust through the door right in front of his face. Presumably the rest of the patronus remained inside, and Harry briefly wondered whose, and what, it was. 

"We've spoken," the largish beak said in Snape's hoarsened voice. "Leave. And stay gone." 

~@~

_ October 1998 _

Multiple footsteps thundered past his open door, accompanied by gabbled conversations and shrieks of laughter. The sound muted to a rumble as the children reached the salon, and faded further as the door was closed behind them. 

Harry smiled softly at the happy ruckus before turning his attention back to his pile of mail. Five months since Voldemort's defeat, and it still seemed that his mail pile got larger every day. He'd hoped that fulfilling his "destiny" would reduce the Wizarding World's demands on him, but even hiding — er, secluding — himself in the sprawling country home didn't deter them. 

He reached for the next envelope and spelled it open; the daily volume of his mail was such that non-magical handling guaranteed him an endless string of paper cuts. The writing on the missive was familiar, the words to the point. 

**Potter,  
Your presence is required, immediately.  
S Snape**

"Well, he hasn't lost any of his charm," Harry muttered to himself. He dropped the letter into the box marked **No Reply** (the largest box on his desk, truth be told) and reached for the next with a sigh. _Three more letters_ , he promised himself, _and then I'll join the children for tea_.

~@~

The dining room smelled of peanuts — not surprising, really, with 23 peanut butter sandwiches having been served 'round and (mostly) consumed. The sticky filling meant he didn't have to cajole the children into emptying their milk glasses. The grapes had been a hit with the diners, as well, with only a few having been dropped onto the floor or squished into the tablecloth. 

He was wiping the 19th sticky face (why is it that children universally hate having their faces wiped?) when an owl swooped in with an urgent letter. He assumed it must be urgent, that is, since it was well past the usual morning delivery time. 

He moved on to the 20th child — or tried to; the owl interposed itself between him and Delia and thwarted his attempts to go around it. He found himself in a ludicrous game of peek-a-boo, as the owl dodged and parried to stay between him and his task. A muffled snort revealed that the children found it ridiculous, also. The giggles were let loose as he conceded the battle, tossing the facecloth onto the table with a resigned sigh. 

"You win," he told the owl. He raised his voice a bit and announced, "Everybody's excused." The usual scraping of chairs ensued as the children pushed away from the table and scampered away. He whisked his wand around until the dishes cleared themselves from the table and into the kitchen sink. 

He spelled the letter open on the way to his office. This one was at least a bit less terse. 

**Potter,  
** **What is the meaning of this? An explanation is in order, for your continued contact when I made my wishes clear enough for even one of your limited intellect. You will cease this childish refusal to answer immediately or I shall make you regret it.  
S Snape**

_Only Snape would demand that I answer him, and not answer him, in a single letter,_ he mused. This letter, like the first, went into his **No Reply** box.

~@~

Severus Snape fumed. 

He was rather good at it, having perfected his fuming over a lifetime of bitterness and spite. This was a Level 1 fume, complete with furious pacing and muttered imprecations that didn't quite manage to make it to full sentences. 

He flung himself into his desk chair, ignoring the indignant squeak of the springs, and pulled the precious box closer. He lifted the lid to once again view the bounty inside: whole basilisk fangs, some complete with venom sacs; a full dozen unchipped scales; an entire shed skin — each one literally priceless as there WAS no market for the parts of an animal believed to be extinct. 

_What was the boy thinking?_ It had to be him, of course. Nobody else could possibly have access to basilisk parts. _But why send it to me? I made quite certain he would never harbour the slightest positive feeling toward me._

He might have thought Potter intended him to injure himself when opening the package, if it wasn't for the multitude of warnings written on the outside of the packaging. No, for some reason Potter obviously intended this hoard to end in Severus's unwounded hands. 

And he had the unmitigated gall to refuse to explain himself, or even respond to his mail. Obviously he would have to beat it out of the arrogant sod in person. 

The old Order Headquarters proved empty, as had the aunt's repulsively bland domicile in Little Whinging. Potter was not at either place, nor did it seem he had been for some time. 

His patronus had seen the boy, though, and should be able to lead him to the miscreant. 

~@~

It was a rather large house with extensive grounds, not fancy like Malfoy Manor, but charmingly… homey. The flowerbeds were a riot of mixed colours and blooms, clearly planted without a landscaper's consultation. The green lawns were randomly dotted with mature trees for an overall dappled effect. Stepping-stones led from the gravelled drive to the spacious front porch. The whole effect was one of welcome and cheerfulness. 

Severus despised it on sight, of course. 

He strode to the door and plied the knocker firmly. An unfamiliar house elf opened the door and, before he could demand to see Potter, grabbed his robes and pulled him inside before slamming the door behind them. The entry was dark after the brightness of the day outside, but he could see a vague shape he assumed to be the house elf, dancing around in apparent excitement. 

"Oh, it's the Master of Potions! Master Harry will be so glad to be seeing you at last! I is taking you to Master Harry now, Master Potions Maker sir!" the little being squeaked excitedly. 

Severus resisted the little being's tug, yanking his robes from its grasping fingers. "Why are you expecting a Master of — a Potions Master?" he asked it sternly. The elf stopped dancing, but trembled in place like an excited chihuahua, as if it could resume dancing at any moment. 

"Wispy is not being _expecting_ the Master of Potions, but Master Harry said there _might_ be a visiting from the Master of Potions and here you is, so Master Harry is being correct! Is the Master of Potions not here to be seeing Master Harry?" 

"I am here to see Potter." 

"We does not have a potter, Mister Master of Potions sir. All the flowers is to be staying outside. Master Harry be very firm on this." 

Bypassing for the moment the concept of Potter being firm about anything, Severus conceded the name game to the little elf. "You may escort me to Master Harry," an upraised hand stopped the spindly fingers reaching once more for his robes, " _without_ touching me." The elf's sad eyes rebuked him for insisting on walking under his own power, but there was nothing it could do as his long legs easily kept up with the creature's shorter stride down the panelled hallways. 

Arriving at an ornate door the elf said, "Master Harry is being in the rumpus room," as it turned the knob. As soon as the thick door swung open, the sounds of a rather large commotion could be heard emanating from the room. 

"Rumpus room? Are you sure—?" he started to ask, turning toward the elf only to find it gone. He cautiously peered through the open doorway to determine the cause of the commotion. The centre of the floor was a heaving mass of bodies, the small persons — children, he realized — engaged in some effort to squash some poor unfortunate. 

There was a roar, and the bodies suddenly rose up before sliding from the peak, and Potter emerged like some radioactive monster rising from the sea. The children squealed in glee and scrambled away to regroup before rushing the young man, flinging themselves around his arms and legs to once again bear him to the floor. 

Severus cleared his throat, loudly. The children all froze in place, unfortunately for Potter who remained underneath several of them, and looked in the direction of the door. The tableau held for a few beats before the mass of humanity resolved into individual children wearing some kind of uniform, and one dishevelled Potter rising to his feet. 

"Professor Snape!" the children exclaimed, forming themselves into something that might have been meant to be a straight line. It took all his control to limit his reaction to a single eyebrow raised in Potter's direction. 

"I told them about you," Potter said with a slight shrug. "I've told anybody who would stand still to listen." He turned back to the children and addressed one of the older boys. "Nathan, you're in charge while I talk to Professor Snape." 

"Yes, Harry," a dark-haired boy — presumably Nathan — replied, pride showing on his face as he began rounding up the other children for a new game. The two adults stepped back into the hallway and closed the heavy door behind them, immediately muffling the sound of children at play. 

Severus took the opportunity to give Potter a more thorough looking-over. The year on the run had matured the young man and the post-war respite had taken the desperate edge from his features. His eyes had lost their haunted look, and his body had filled out — and filled out nicely, at that. The unruly hair was no surprise at all, although it was perhaps a bit more messy than usual after the roughhousing. His face was flushed with a light beading of perspiration, and he was slightly out of breath. His clothing was slightly askew, a fact that was only emphasized by Harry's attempts to pull it back into place. 

In fact, he looked quite enticing. Severus dragged his thoughts away from more pleasurable ways to induce the same rumpled breathlessness in Harry. 

"My office is just down the hall," Harry said, turning away and revealing a rather fine arse. _I'll never be able to think of him as a boy again,_ Severus thought to himself as he followed, his eyes glued to the enticingly swaying buttocks. He reminded himself once again to keep to the topic at hand. 

The room Harry lead him to was dominated by a desk of dark wood, its large surface nearly covered with neat piles of parchment — rather like his own had been while teaching. The desk was placed sideways to the doorway, rather than facing it. A pair of comfortable-looking armchairs faced the desk invitingly. _Just like a Gryffindor to give away the advantage,_ Severus thought, comparing it to his own desk which had faced the door, immediately intimidating any who entered, fronted by hard wooden chairs that made visitors squirm in a vain attempt to achieve comfort. 

A leather sofa lounged against the opposite wall, next to a side table holding a lamp. The parchments scattered across the long, low table in front of the couch suggested it was used for reading more than the overly-neat desk. Both desk and sofa allowed a clear view out the tall windows into the grounds; Severus rather expected that the young man spent as much time gazing out the window as he did reading through his papers. 

It took him only a few seconds to assess the room, finishing before Harry rounded the corner of the desk and gestured invitingly to the chairs before taking his own seat. Severus sat, but stubbornly perched upright on the front of the seat rather than relaxing. 

"How can I help you?" Harry asked amiably. Severus's irritation returned at the mask of innocence. 

"You know very well why I am here," he scoffed. "I made it clear…" 

"No," Harry interrupted, "You ordered me to come." 

"And yet you did not," Severus replied sternly. 

"Well, I had conflicting orders," Harry said in what Severus supposed was meant to be a reasonable tone. "Your last instructions to me were quite clear: I was not to darken your door again. So I have not." 

Severus blustered; it was rare for somebody to call him out on his inconsistencies, their fear of him generally inspiring them to leap to his bidding without contemplation. That _this_ person would be one of the few surprised him, who was rarely surprised. But a spy who was not flexible did not last long, so he changed his approach to one of conciliation. 

"I was not aware you had other duties," he said stiffly. "Though I am not surprised that your class degenerated into a literal free-for-all," he couldn't help adding. 

"My class? This isn't a school," Harry said. 

"Children in uniforms, and it's not a school?" Severus looked at him askance. "It's too early in the day for them to be visiting _after_ classes." 

"They're not in school yet," Harry said. "They're in uniform to give them all an equal footing, as some arrived with barely anything of their own." 

"Arrived?" Severus repeated, confused. "Arrived where?" 

"Here," Harry replied unhelpfully. "I take in all of them I can find." 

"Take in?" Severus echoed again, hating the feeling of being lost in the conversation. "All of whom?" 

"War orphans," Harry said, as though Snape should have been able to figure it out. "I've started an orphanage. I wanted to adopt them all, but Wizarding Family Services wouldn't allow it because of my age." 

"Surely some of them, at least, have family left," Severus objected. "There has never been a need for a Wizarding orphanage before." 

"Yeah, well, none of their families dared take them in, even if they wanted to," Harry said grimly. "They can't risk having their own sympathies questioned, especially if they have children of their own. You know the Ministry is going after anybody related to any suspected Death Eater." 

"These are all…?" Severus began. 

"Children of Voldemort's sympathisers," Harry finished. "Yes." 

"Why would you take them in?" The only person who had ever bewildered Severus to this extent was Albus Dumbledore, who had never failed to expect good from people. 

"Because they're children!" Harry said heatedly. "They've done nothing wrong! They can't help which families they were born into, and what does that matter anyway? Death Eaters loved their children as much as any other parents do!" Severus felt unaccustomed guilt well up in him. He had blamed Harry, often and loudly, for his own parentage. 

"Mr Potter," he began uncomfortably, "Allow me to express my regret…" 

"Harry," the young man replied. "Never mind about that," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I understand why you had to do that, although of course I hated it, and you, at the time." Severus was stunned. To have such transgressions casually brushed aside was completely outside his experience. 

"At the time?" he queried, genuinely perplexed. "Not still?" 

"Of course not!" Harry exclaimed. "Didn't my package make that clear? I'd have sent a note with it, but I didn't think you were the type to expect or tolerate a mawkish dissection of our mutual past actions." 

"I… it wasn't clear to me," Severus admitted. "I thought your opinion of me quite firmly rooted. I could not think of any reason why you would send me such bounty, or what you would expect in return." 

"I don't expect anything in return," Harry said, surprised. 

"Of course you do," Severus scoffed. "Nobody gives away a king's ransom without expecting something to balance the debt." 

"And no gift could ever redeem my debt to you," Harry scoffed in return. "All the years of looking out for me, all the sacrifices you made spying, dedicating your _life_ to making sure I could fulfil my purpose — what I owe you could _never_ be repaid with mere money. But there was this basilisk carcass just going to waste… and I thought it might help." 

"Help with what?" Severus would have shaken his head if he thought it would help order his thoughts. He needed a map to trace the number of sharp turns this conversation had taken. 

"Fixing your voice, of course," Harry said easily. "I don't know a lot about potions work, as you know…" Severus smirked, "…but I figured that ingredients from a larger, even more venomous serpent could be used to counteract Nagini's venom and allow the damage to heal." 

"That's… actually quite sound thinking." Severus said slowly. Harry grinned. 

"Try not to sound so surprised," he said cheerfully. "I'll try not to do it too often." 

"You expect us to interact often?" Severus raised an eyebrow in affected disbelief, while hope slithered into his heart. 

"Maybe not _expect_ ," Harry allowed, "but I did — I do — hope." 

"That… might not be out of the question," Severus allowed cautiously. "Especially if you run across any other rare potions ingredients you aren't using," he dared a small joke. 

"Well, about that…" Harry said, with just a touch of embarrassment. 

"Wait, you do? I mean, you have?" He could not believe it. 

"Well, I didn't 'run across them,' so to speak," Harry admitted. "But I was able to get some other samples that might be of use to you." He opened the large lower drawer and lifted out a generously-sized box. "I wasn't sure if they could be sent safely by owl, so I held onto them until you came to see me." He gently set the box on the desk and pushed it smoothly across to Severus. 

"What's in it?" Severus asked suspiciously, noting the lack of warning labels such as had been on the basilisk parts. 

"Nothing inherently dangerous," Harry assured him. "Just stuff we didn't want to fall into just anybody's hands. All freely given, of course, which Hermione said made them more potent." 

"We?" Severus queried, lifting the lid. He hissed in a breath as he saw the three large stasis globes of blood, each clearly labelled. 

" _Person cured by bezoar,_ " he read from the first label. 

"Ron," Harry clarified. Severus raised both eyebrows at that. 

" _Weasley_ volunteered this?" Severus found this rather incredible. 

"Well, he didn't exactly _volunteer_ ," Harry allowed, "but he did _agree_. Eventually." He smiled as he said it, but Severus wondered just how much convincing the young hothead had taken. 

" _Person who killed the source,_ " the next label asserted. He glanced up at Harry again. 

"Neville was even easier to convince," Harry confirmed. "He was at school that last year, so he was able to look back and realize how much you blocked the Carrows from even worse actions." Severus could only shake his head at how Gryffindors tended to nobility rather than reprisal. 

" _Person healed by phoenix tears, _" the final label proclaimed. Severus drew in his brows at that. "Who…?" he asked. The only contemporary phoenix he knew of was Albus's, and he was not aware of any healing the bird had performed. He turned his puzzled look on Harry.__

____

____

"Me," Harry said quietly. "Second year, after… everything. The basilisk bit me before I could kill it. I thought I was done for, but Fawkes cried for me. 

Not just healed by phoenix tears then, but healed of a _basilisk_ bite. Each one of these vials would be invaluable to his research — and possible healing. It was too much. He couldn't — wouldn't — refuse it, but he needed to defuse the sombre atmosphere. 

"What, no virgin's blood?" he joked, and was surprised when Harry's cheeks flooded once more with colour. 

"Well, you can use the last one for both," he squeaked out, "but I was hoping that wouldn't remain a requirement." 

Severus allowed his expression to relax. Not an actual smile, of course, but he rather thought Harry could sense one anyway. 


End file.
